All That Glitters
by Pink Tinted Monocle
Summary: On the day that Thomas and Jimmy take their first tentative steps towards a relationship, their whole world goes to hell in a handbasket. Rated M for language, sexual content and horror. Cross-over with Doctor Who, featuring the 10th Doctor and Captain Jack Harkness. No previous knowledge of Doctor Who needed.
1. Chapter 1

**All That Glitters...**

**Chapter 1**

**Rated M for sex, (fairly) explicit M/M relations, language and horror in later chapters. Enjoy!**

**Also, on a quick side note – this story is written with the Thommy fandom in mind, i.e. Downton Abbey fans who ship Thomas and Jimmy, so Thomas and Jimmy's relationship will be the main focus of this fic (I know that the first chapter is a bit misleading in this respect). Therefore, although it is a cross-over with Doctor Who no prior knowledge of Who is needed to enjoy this fic, although there is some Who background info about Captain Jack Harkness which will be useful to know when reading this – if you are a non-Whovian, this background info can be found on my tumblr (pinktintedmonocle), or just PM me and I'll send it to you.**

**Anywho, on with the story...**

September 1914

It was Thomas Barrow's first day off in nearly a month, and it was raining. _Bloody typical_, he thought sourly, staring out of the nearest window at the grey drizzle soaked street beyond.

Thomas had hoped that volunteering for the medical core would be something of an easy ride (at least compared to joining the army), but he had been at the training hospital in York for over six weeks now and he had hated every second of it. Ever since the outbreak of war there had barely been a minute when he wasn't rushed off his feet. There was already talk of him being sent to the front. _Not if I can bloody help it_, he had thought when his commanding officer had told him the news. _You can shove your sodding war where the sun don't shine if you think I'm going to France to risk life and limb for some prissy middle class schoolboys who are in over their heads._

It had been blazing hot all week, and he had hoped to spend his solitary free day having a walk around the city before finding a quiet sunny spot where he could sit down and read a book. But then, that morning, the heavens had opened, and had not yet seen fit to close. Thomas would have rather stayed in the hospital than traipse the streets of York while getting soaked to the skin, but it was his day off, and the only opportunity he'd get for a long while to escape that ammonia soaked hell-hole.

So he'd borrowed a brolly from his bunk mate and legged it to the nearest pub where he'd now been for well nigh on four hours, and had blown a fair chunk of his last wage packet from Downton on beer. _Shame they don't have any wine here, _he thought ruefully, glancing around the grotty interior of the ale-house. _But then they don't seem to have much of anything. Apart from shit booze, that is. _He took another gulp from his glass and grimaced. He didn't know how the day could get much worse.

Just then the bell above the door tinkled, and a man entered the bar. This wasn't an unusual occurrence in itself; there had already been a dozen or so men enter the pub since Thomas had arrived, all of them portly middle aged farmer types with ruddy faces and runny noses. But this man was different. He was smartly dressed in a sharp suit of blue serge that Thomas found himself instantly envious of. The fatigues of a medical officer felt like sackcloth next to his footman's uniform, and Thomas always hated not being able to look his best.

He was handsome too, this mysterious well-dressed man, with short dark hair similar to Thomas' and a winning smile which he flashed at the girl behind the counter. _Very handsome indeed, _thought Thomas as the man laughed at something the barmaid said with a flash of white teeth and dimples.

Thomas hadn't realised quite how blatantly he'd been staring until the man turned towards him and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Thomas gave him a polite a smile. The man paid the barmaid and picked up his pint, before making his way over to the corner table where Thomas was seated.

'Mind if I join you?" he asked in an American accent, shooting Thomas a dazzling grin as he sat down opposite him, not waiting for an answer. Thomas felt his breath hitch in his chest. "Not at all" he responded as smoothly as he could. It had been a while since he had attempted to flirt with another man; not since the Pamuk debacle, in fact. And he wasn't even sure that the American was interested in him in _that _way. Perhaps he was just being friendly. Thomas decided to play it safe. For now.

"Captain Jack Harkness" said the American, holding out a hand. He smiled again, and Thomas felt his heart flutter a little. _Don't be getting carried away_ said a voice in his head. _No point in fawning over him, not after last time. Likelihood is he'll reject you straight off the bat you if you try anything and you'll only succeed in landing yourself in hot water once again. _But the Captain was still grinning at him, hand still outstretched, so Thomas pushed the voice to one side.

"Corporal Thomas Barrow" said Thomas, leaning forward to grip Jack's hand. _Well, not quite a Corporal yet. But I will be soon. And anyway, why should he be the only one who gets to have a rank?_

"Pleased to meet you, Corporal" said the Captain winningly, shaking Thomas' hand. It may have just been wishful thinking, but Thomas could have sworn that Jack's fingers lingered a little longer than strictly necessary on his own.

"Likewise, Captain" replied Thomas, the confidence starting to seep back into his voice. "So, what brings you to Yorkshire? I'm assuming you're not here for the climate". He gestured towards the window. It was still pissing down outside.

The Captain laughed. "No, can't say that it was the weather that brought me to this neck of the woods. Although it's certainly better than Wales; doesn't quite rain every day here." He shot Thomas another grin and took a sip of his drink. "No, but seriously, I'm here on business."

"War business?" questioned Thomas.

"What else?" said the American, a little ruefully. "All business is war business these days."

"Around for a while?" asked Thomas. He was starting to warm to his handsome stranger. Just a little.

"Not much longer. Concluded my business this morning, in fact. Hence the celebrating. And the civvies." He lifted his pint and tipped Thomas a wink while taking another swig.

Thomas gave a snort of derision. "Not much of a celebration.", he said, using a hand to gesture at their shabby surroundings. He was surprised to find himself a little disappointed that the American would be leaving so soon. _Don't know why you'd be surprised _said the voice in his head. _Everyone you've ever liked has buggered off and left you. Why should he be any different?_

"Oh, I don't know about that" said Jack, his voice dropping an octave. He leaned across the table, bringing his face nearer to Thomas'. "I think I might be in for a very enjoyable day. Now that I've found you." he said, grinning wolfishly.

Despite his best efforts to remain aloof, Thomas felt a blush creep up his cheeks. The Captain's grin turned into a leer as he moved closer to the former footman. Under the table, Thomas felt Jack's hand on his thigh.

_Well, _Thomas thought happily, _there's no mistaking __that__._ He had a quick glance around the pub to make sure no-one was watching before he placed his own hand on Jack's knee. He gazed seductively up at the Captain through thick lashes. "Do you have somewhere we can go?" he asked coyly.

Jack's leer widened. "That I do. You wanna go straight there or can I buy you a drink first?"

Thomas looked down at his half-full pint of scummy beer in distaste. "Let's go." he said.

"Ooooo, eager." The Captain wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I like that in a man."

Jack swigged down the rest of his pint and wrinkled his nose. "God this stuff is crap." He complained rather loudly, earning him a glare from one of the farmer types across the room. Jack just grinned and laughed again, and Thomas found himself smiling too. "Shall we?" said Jack, gesturing towards the door.

Thomas nodded. "After you, Captain."

As they walked out of the pub and hurried down the wet road outside, Thomas could barely believe his luck. Not only was a Jack a handsome man who apparently didn't pussy-foot around when it came to sex, he was also a Captain. _An American one, perhaps, but a Captain nonetheless. A man of power. One who'd be sure to find himself in a whole world of trouble if any of his superiors found out about our... encounter. _After they had indulged their passions Thomas would only have to engage in a light bit of blackmail to get Captain Harkness to pull a few strings to excuse Thomas from active duty, and he would get to stay in the safety of his mother country for the rest of the war.

_Not a bad day at all, really _Thomas thought smugly, as he followed Jack down a narrow alleyway. _Not bad at all._

"Oh God, shit, FUCK!" screamed Thomas as he came in Jack's mouth. He felt his muscles spasm as a wave of pure ecstasy crashed over him. He saw stars and felt the white heart of orgasm course through his body. His took a great shuddering breath as the feeling of pleasure subsided, before letting his head hit the pillows on Jack's bed while the rest of him went as limp as a rag doll.

His resolve to engage in a quick bit of action before playing the blackmail card had lasted until Jack had kissed him for the first time. Thomas had always scolded himself for being such a romantic when it came to sex. He always told himself he would keep an emotional distance from his lovers, that he wouldn't get too attached, but he always failed. Although normally it took a few good shags before Thomas gave his heart away, it had only taken a quick brush of the lips before he fell for Jack.

After they had left the pub, the Captain had taken Thomas to an abandoned factory building on the outskirts of the city. _The fuck is this place?_ Thomas had thought in confusion. _Hope he doesn't expect us to do it on top of a load of rusty machinery._

Jack had laughed as if he could read Thomas' mind and beckoned him inside with a grin. "Don't worry about appearances." he had said. "I assure you that you'll be pleasantly surprised once we get inside."

And Thomas had been. Although the inside of the building was indeed strewn with broken cogs, bits of conveyor belts and other pieces of dilapidated industrial machinery, Jack had led Thomas over to an old service elevator in the corner, guided the soon-to-be Corporal inside and pressed the button for the basement. "Going down," he had said, eyes mentally undressing Thomas as the life clattered its way to the depths of the factory. "Yes please."

Thomas had started to become a little worried that Jack had something far more sinister planned than a simple shag, but all of his fears soon evaporated when the doors of the elevator sprang open and Thomas saw the room beyond. The basement of the factory couldn't have been more different from the floor above. The walls, floor and ceiling were all a painted a silvery white that gave the room a faint glow. In the centre of the large space was a kingsize double bed with soft white sheets and a gleaming silver frame. A few odd bits of furniture where dotted around, silver to match the rest of the decor. Thomas thought it looked like something out of a H. G. Wells novel.

"You like?" asked Jack, grinning again.

"I, well, I, _yes._" stuttered Thomas, in a state of mild shock. "How did you - I mean – it is yours?"

"Yup" said the Captain, cocking his head a little to the side. "Well, actually no, but it's as good as for the night. I'm loaning it from a friend."

Thomas just nodded mutely, a little overwhelmed. His eyes drifted to the bed. Jack followed his gaze. "Ah", Jack had said, his wolfish grin returning to his lips. "Let's get on with it, eh?" And with another quick grin he had leaned in and kissed Thomas.

It was not that Thomas was a stranger to kissing, it was simply that he had never before kissed someone quite as skilled and enthusiastic as Jack. The American's tongue slid expertly between Thomas' lips, and he had cupped Thomas' buttocks with his hands as he moved them both towards the bed. It wasn't just the kiss that had tipped Thomas over the edge, amazing as it was, but the whole _feel _of the man. Jack felt incredible, all toned muscle and finely chiselled features. And he smelt _wonderful._ Thomas had never met anyone who smelt so good, not even the expensively perfumed aristocrats that he had served at Downton.

When they reached the bed Jack had pushed Thomas roughly into the soft linen and reached down to remove both their trousers. "Oh, I nearly forgot to say; this whole room is completely sound-proofed. So feel free to scream as loud as you want." And with that the Captain had climbed on top of Thomas with a final wink'n'grin, and had wrapped his mouth around the other man's cock, at which point Thomas' brain had short-circuited.

That had been nearly four hours previously, during which the two men had taken it in turns to penetrate each other in a variety of highly unusual (and somewhat dangerous) positions. Thomas' most recent shuddering orgasm had marked the end of round five. He wondered, dazedly, if all American's were this good in bed. He'd only ever had English lovers before, and most of them had been fairly conservative when it came to nocturnal activities. _Perhaps I should emigrate after the war._

While he waited for his vision to clear he felt Jack flop down beside him, breathing heavily. "You know it's been a while since I met someone who could keep pace with me as well as you do. I must congratulate you Corporal. You should get a medal for that."

Thomas' eyes focused just long enough to see Jack looming over him before his mouth was covered once again. He moaned wantonly into the Captain's mouth, too spent to respond with much vigour. Jack's mouth moved away from Thomas' own and he trailed hot wet kisses down Thomas' neck. The former footman groaned in feeble protest as he brought his hands up to rest of Jack's chest, gently pushing him away.

"Maybe we can take a little, ah, breather" panted Thomas. _God I need a fag. _Jack smiled. "If we must." The American rolled off him. Thomas leaned over the side of the bed and reached out to where his jacket lay on the floor. He rooted around in the pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a box of matches. He lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply before offering the pack to Jack.

"Not for me" said the Captain, shaking his head. "Those things can seriously shorten your life span, you know."

Thomas snorted in contempt. "Says who? And anyway, we all die sooner or later." Jack laughed loudly, as if the idea of dying was the funniest thing in the world. Thomas suddenly remembered his plan to get Jack to make sure he didn't have to go to France. _I mustn't forget about that_, he thought vaguely.

"So, what did you do before the war?" asked the Captain, propping himself up on one elbow and turning to look at Thomas. "I'm guessing you weren't a builder or a farmer, not with hands that smooth."

Thomas took a drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke into the air. "I was a footman" he said.

"A footman!" Jack exclaimed gleefully. "I bet you looked a treat in a waistcoat and tails. Don't still have them, do you?"

"No." replied Thomas, quirking an eyebrow. "Why?"

Jack shrugged. "I do love a man in a good uniform, that's all. Pity they're gone. I might have been convinced to hang around these parts a little longer if I knew I could've looked forward to the sight of you dressed up to the nines." He reached forward to brush a stray lock of hair from Thomas' eyes. "But then I may stick around anyway, now that I've met you."

Thomas felt his heart skip a beat and turned away from Jack to hide the happy flush of colour that had appeared on his face. He stubbed out his cigarette on the silver surface of the bedside cabinet. _Maybe they'll be no blackmail needed after all. Maybe we can just stay here together until the war is over. Shh! _said the more practical side of his brain. _Stop being such a romantic clot and keep focused on the plan._ He ignored it. As he flicked a few stray bits of ash from his fingers, his gaze fell on a chair near the bed. It was silver, like everything else in the room, and had a long blue greatcoat thrown over it. The coat was nice, _very nice_, even sharper than Jack's suit. It had a military look about it, but Thomas has never seen a coat quite like it which was odd. He was normally so good with clothes.

He turned back to Jack. "What about you, then? What did you do before the war?"

"Oh, you know", Jack replied vaguely, waving a hand around. "This and that." Thomas knew he was being purposely elusive, but didn't press him further. He was too exhausted to ask any deep, probing question. _Too tired for any other types of deep probing either. At least for now._ He yawned widely.

"Sleepy?" Jack asked. Thomas yawned again in response. "Me too. Come here, we can fall asleep together." He lifted up an arm and Thomas shifted towards him, placing his head on Jack's chest. He felt Jack's arm wrap around him. He'd never been allowed to sleep in the same bed as any of his other lovers. It felt good.

"Sweet dreams, Corporal." He heard Jack murmur, and felt a kiss being pressed to his forehead.

And as he drifted off to sleep in Jack's arms, Thomas Barrow wondered if it could be possible for life to get any better than this.


	2. Chapter 2

I think it was gigi who named the two young hallboys Peter and Henry (is that right?) – but these names seem to have become sort of canon the in Thommy fandom so I'm using them here. Also I'm making them cockney's from London's East End, because then that makes them (wait for it) _barrow boys_. (I'm all about the bad puns today.)

Anywho, without further ado,

**All That Glitters... – Chapter 2**

**Summary: On the day that Thomas and Jimmy take their first tentative steps towards a relationship, their whole world goes to hell in a handbasket.**

April 1922

"_GET DOWN!" yelled Thomas, grabbing Alfred by his shoulders and pushing him to the floor. A crackling beam of green light shot through the space where Alfred's head had been only moments before. Instead of the redhead it hit one of the walls of the servant's hall, going straight through the plaster and leaving a perfectly round pea-sized hole in its wake. Thomas held Alfred tightly beneath him as another burst of light sailed through the air, this one going straight through the door that lead to the servant's staircase. A high, thin scream followed in its wake. _

_The footman struggled against Thomas' grip, trying without much success to wiggle out from under the Under-Butler. His normally pale face had turned a ghostly white and there were ugly red blotches on his cheeks and neck. His breathing was erratic. Thomas had dealt with enough injured soldiers during his time in the trenches to know when someone was in shock. "But it's my fault!" he wailed hysterically, bucking his hips in an effort to push Thomas off. "It's all my fault! I have to help him!" _

_Another bolt of light and another scream ripped through the air. Thomas struggled to continue holding firmly onto Alfred, concentrating all his remaining strength on keeping the redhead out of danger. As Alfred continue to writhe beneath him Thomas brought his hands further up the footman's body to secure his head while he held down Alfred's lower half with his knees. As Thomas' hands moved up, they settled at the base of Alfred's neck. Thomas was suddenly struck by how thin and delicate Alfred's neck was. _How easy it would be to break_, said the dark little voice in his head. _This whole hellish mess is his fault, after all. He deserves to suffer for it. He deserves to die_. But just as Thomas' hands began to tighten around the footman's neck, another voice spoke up. _No_, it said, gentle yet firm. _You know it wasn't really his fault. He didn't know what he was doing. _She _did something to him to make him act that way. And anyway, killing him now would be a foolish plan; you're going to need all the help you can get.

_Thomas took his hands quickly away from Alfred's neck and placed them on either side of his head instead. He willed himself to stay focused on the task at hand, trying to keep the footman still. He took a few deep, shuddering breaths in an effort to stop his own lip from quivering in imitation of the man writhing beneath him. "No." Thomas said quietly, his voice still weak and quavering despite the authority he was desperately trying to inject it with. He felt tears prick his eyes and focused hard on suppressing a sob. Thomas knew that the most sensible course of action would be to risk a quick glance at the source of the chaos to see how much danger he and Alfred were in of being on the receiving end of their own beam of light. But he simply couldn't bear the thought of having to look at... 'it'. Instead he kept his gaze focused on Alfred's terrified face. "You have to get to safety", Thomas told the footman, swallowing thickly against the bile rising in his throat. A tear fell to his cheek. "There's nothing you can do to save him."_

Until late evening on that balmy day in April when Thomas Barrow's world would be shattered forever, everything had been carrying on pretty much as normal at Downton (or at least as normal as things could be after the death of Matthew Crawley), both upstairs and down. Lady Mary had spend the day locked in the nursery with baby George (a common occurrence since the death of her husband), Mr Carson had been fretting both about her and the apparently parlous state of the silver-ware, and Mrs Patmore was bustling about the kitchen, barking shrill orders at Ivy and Daisy who were scurrying around, half-covered in flour and looking increasingly harassed. His Lordship and her Ladyship were ensconced in the library after waving off Lady Edith and Lady Rose on their trip to London, the housemaids were giving the upstairs dining room a good spring clean under the close supervision of Mrs Hughes, and Jimmy and Alfred where polishing candlesticks in the servant's hall. In short, everyone was getting on with their lives and work as was needed in order to keep Downton running like a well-oiled machine. Apart, that is, from Thomas Barrow, who had spent the vast majority of the morning attempting to avoid his workload by any means possible.

The problem was that ever since his promotion Thomas had found himself being increasingly involved in the day-to-day running of the house. No longer was he required to simply shine shoes and dress men for dinner; now he was _really_ in the thick of it, dealing with local merchants, ordering supplies and overseeing the other servants. And although Thomas was genuinely proud to be able to call himself Under-Butler of Downton Abbey, he was finding it rather difficult to summon up the enthusiasm to fully immerse himself in some of the more menial tasks that he was required to perform.

One such task had been given to him that very day by Mr Carson, who had requested that Thomas spend his morning in the Butler's office, engaging in the excruciatingly dull job of trawling through numerous cleaning supply inventories and compiling a list of the products they were running low on. He had even excused Thomas from the breakfast and lunch service so that the under-butler could give the task his full attention. After making a valiant effort to get at least halfway through the first list, Thomas had felt his eyes glaze over and his mind start to wander. He was in the middle of a particularly pleasing daydream involving Jimmy, a warm bed and a bowl of whipping-cream when a sharp knock on the office door awoke him from his reverie.

The door opened and a hamster-cheeked hallboy poked his head into the room. "Yes?" Thomas snapped tersely, agitated at being disturbed in the middle of such a pleasing little fantasy. "Can I help?"

"M-M-Mr Carson sent me" stuttered the boy, clearly somewhat taken away by Thomas' sharp tone. "'E-E said to tell you that the servant's lunch is gunna be delayed by 'bout twen'ee minutes 'cause of the extra food that's needin' to be sent upstairs on account of the, umm, ... _unexpected visiters_." The boy lowered his voice as he said the last two words, widening his eyes and giving a slight incline of his head as if to imply that there could be nothing more unsettling than unexpected visitors. Thomas suspected that this was an opinion he had picked up from Mr Carson. The Under-Butler furrowed his brow.

"Who?" he asked, a little dumbly.

"Who what?" responded the boy.

"Who are these visitors?"

"Nobody knows," said the boy in hushed tones, "'on account of the fact that they were _unexpected."_

Thomas sighed internally. He was clearly not going to get very far with this line of enquiry.

"Right" Thomas said, attempting a smile that came out more like a grimace. "Will that be all, ah, Henry, isn't it?"

"Peter" replied the boy. "And yes, that's all for now Mr Barrow." His face vanished from the doorway, but then, as if on an afterthought, popped back round again. "Oh, We're runnin' low on shoe polish though, Mr Barrow. And shoe brushes. Just thought I'd let you know." The little head disappeared once again, this time closing the door behind itself.

Thomas blinked. He looked down at the so-far blank shopping list titled 'Cleaning Products' and wrote 'shoe polish / brushes' at the top. Then, just to bulk it out a bit, he added 'soda crystals', 'drain cleaner' and the names of a few other generic household chemicals which he figured would probably be needed by someone downstairs at some point. He folded up the piece of paper and slipped it in his pocket before gathering up the inventory lists, giving them a quick shuffle and putting them back in Mr Carson's desk drawer. _Job done_ he thought, not without a hint of smugness.

He stood up, had a quick stretch to relieve the cramp that had settled in his limbs, and was just about to exit the room when he caught a glimpse of himself in the glass panes of the silver cabinet. He found himself pausing, hand on the doorknob, as he stared at his reflection. At this distance from the glass in the dim, forgiving light of the office he looked almost young again. He couldn't see the faint streaks of grey that had recently begun to appear around his temples or the soft crinkly lines by his eyes. His face was lean and smooth, cheekbones as sharp as they had once been, his thick ebony hair as dark as ever.

Thomas was nothing if not a vain man, and although he occasionally admitted to himself that there were more handsome men in England (a certain blonde footman came to mind), he had always prided himself on the fact that there were few who could match his particular brand of dark, seductive smoulder. Consequently, aging terrified him. He believed that as he became older and his looks began to fade, his already miniscule chance of finding love would disappear completely. Sometimes, when he was alone and in a particularly dark mood, he pictured himself in thirty, forty years time. He saw a frail old man living alone in a tiny, grimy cottage, whiling away his days thinking of the life he could have had if he had been lucky enough to have met that special someone who would have made it worth living.

As he continued to stare into the makeshift mirror, morbid thoughts whirling around his mind, he was reminded of Jack, who had laughed so easily at the concept of death, as if nothing could be funnier. _Oh yes, don't forget about Jack_, sneered the cruel little voice in Thomas' head. _Jack who rejected you, Jack who left you like the others. Phillip, Kemal, Jack, Edward, Jimmy. Quite a little list you've complied over the years. _Thomas closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, trying to block out the snide voice. It had become harder to ignore it in recent years. The older Thomas became, the more the voice sounded like his father.

Eight years previously, shortly before Thomas had been shipped off to France with the medical core to fight in the war, he had met a handsome American solider named Captain Jack Harkness. After a blissful (and highly energetic) night of love making, they had fallen asleep in each other's arms. The next morning the Captain had even made him breakfast, (burnt bacon, but Thomas had become used to a lot worse at the training hospital), and made Thomas promise to return to him that evening.

But when Thomas went back to the old factory where Jack was staying, the American was nowhere to be found. Thomas had taken the rickety old lift down to the basement where Jack's sleek, futuristic looking room had been, only to find just another level of dilapidated machinery. Jack Harkness, and everything belonging to him, had disappeared completely in the course of a single day. Thomas had even made discreet enquires about the Captain in the army bases in and around York, but no-one had ever even heard of a Jack Harkness before.

_He vanished off the face of the earth to avoid another night with you. What does that say about the great Thomas Barrow?_

"Shut _up_." Thomas muttered aloud. He opened his eyes. While he had had them closed he had moved nearer to the glass without realising. Now he was close enough to see the lines around his eyes and the gray in his hair. _How could anyone care for a man like you? _

He frowned at his reflection, before setting his jaw and turning once again to walk out of the door.

As Thomas exited the office and turned towards the servant's hall he nearly collided with a rather harried looking Carson, who was barrelling along the corridor at a speed that Thomas thought somewhat inadvisable for a man in his sixties with a dicky heart. "Oh!" exclaimed the Butler, his furry eyebrows shooting half-way up his forehead as he suddenly found himself face-to-face with his deputy. "Beg your pardon, Mr Barrow", he rumbled distractedly as he took a step back, running a hand through his thinning hair to settle back into place a few loose strands that had been shaken free from his pomade slicked scalp. Thomas noted that his bowtie was also a little askew, and found himself wondering what could have possibly happened to make the normally pristine Butler appear so dishevelled. He knew better than to ask; Carson was more likely to dance the black bottom on the servant's hall table wearing a pair of Mrs Patmore's bloomers than he was to confide in Thomas. _Maybe Jimmy knows something_, he thought. Thomas made a mental note to question his favourite footman about it over lunch. But right now he still had the Butler to deal with.

"Not to worry, Mr Carson", he replied smoothly. "These things happen." He briefly contorted his face into a thin smile that did not reach his eyes. Carson nodded in acknowledgement of the gesture, but did not smile back. Although since the almost-scandal and Thomas' promotion the two men had been acting more politely to one another, it didn't mean that either man liked the other any more than he had before.

Thomas suddenly remembered the list in his pocket and pulled it out with a flourish. "I've just finished sorting out the cleanin' supplies. I've written everything we need on 'ere."

"Already?" Carson questioned a touch disbelievingly as he took the slip of paper, quirking an eyebrow "That was quick, Mr Barrow."

"Well," Thomas said levelly, "I do like to be efficient." But even as he spoke with a well-honed air of confidence he held his breath; there was bound to be at least one thing he had left off the list (if not several), and he knew Carson wouldn't hesitate to berate him on his lacklustre attention to detail. So he was more than a little surprised when Carson simply nodded again and passed him back the list.

"Well everything seems to be in order there, Mr Barrow. You can go into the village after luncheon to get what is needed."

Internally praising his own ingenuity (and hallboys with good timing) Thomas pocketed the list once again and gave Carson another smile, this one a little warmer than the last. Not only had he managed to get out of spending the afternoon cooped up in Carson's office in a state of mind-numbing boredom, but he now also had the opportunity to have a nice walk into the village. It was such a nice day for it as well. _I wonder if I can convince the old goat to let Jimmy come with me to help_, he thought. It was worth a shot. He would ask during their impending meal; he knew he was more likely to get an answer in the affirmative once Carson had a good bit of grub in him. Also, Mrs Hughes would be present to help him twist the Butler's arm if necessary.

His smile increased in wattage and he gestured in the direction of the servant's hall. "After you then, Mr Carson." As the Butler turned to walk through the door, Thomas let his smile turn into a smirk. _Not too bad a day after all_ he mused happily, blissfully unaware of the terror that awaited him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ok, new chapter! Sorry it's taken so long, this one kinda got away from me a bit. Oh, and thanks to Maya for the lovely review! I hope you like this chapter, especially as the Doctor makes an appearance...**

**All That Glitters... – Chapter 3**

"Bloody odd pair if you ask me," Jimmy whispered, pausing mid sentence to munch on a mouthful of treacle tart. He swallowed. "and you should've seen what they were _wearing. _Thought Carson was going to have a heart attack."

Thomas smirked in response, taking a bite of his own helping of dessert and chewing thoughtfully. So _that_ was why Carson had been in such a fluster earlier. Trust the Butler to get so worked up over clothes.

When Thomas and Carson had entered the servant's hall earlier for lunch, the room had been abuzz with gossip concerning the mysterious men upstairs. Carson had wasted no time in gruffly informing the staff that the family were simply entering guests of Mrs Crawley and that such frivolous chatter had no place at their dinner table. Subsequently, when Ivy had entered the room to begin the lunch service and had innocently inquired as the identity of the visitors, the Butler had barked so fiercely that 'such things were none of her business' that the stunned kitchen maid had dropped half a bowl of broccoli on Molesley's head.

After Henry the hallboy had helped the startled valet brush the greenery out of his comb-over, (and Mr Patmore had whisked a tearful Ivy off to the kitchens), no one had dared to say another word in fear of inducing Carson's simmering wrath, and consequently the remainder of the main course had passed in awkward silence. Thankfully, however, the Butler's mood improved significantly when Daisy (under instruction from Mrs Patmore) had brought him an extra large slice of treacle tart for his pudding, and he had let himself be drawn into a genial conversation about the upcoming village flower show with Mrs Hughes and a now broccoli-free Mr Molesley.

The rest of the staff had taken this a sign that they were allowed to resume their normal lunch time gossip (albeit in slightly more hushed tones than usual), and so Thomas had taken the opportunity to ask Jimmy about the visitors. So far he had gleaned that they were an American army Captain and his friend, an English doctor, who Isobel Crawley had rather impulsively invited to luncheon after they had paid her a visit. Apparently the American had been stationed with Matthew during the war and, finding himself in the area, had gone to Crawley House to give his condolences to the mother of his former comrade-in-arms.

Upon the mention of an 'American Captain', Thomas' thoughts had jumped straight to Jack Harkness, and a little spark of hope had ignited in his heart. This had, however, soon been extinguished when Alfred (leaning around Jimmy in an effort to join the conversation), had stated that the American was a Captain James Harker, while the Englishman was named Doctor John Smith. Inside Thomas' head the cruel voice had sneered. _What, did you think he had come back for you? Gone to all the trouble of concocting some cock and bull story about paying his regards to the memory of Mr Crawley so he could sweep you off your feet? Don't be pathetic. As if anyone would come back for you, especially him. He couldn't get away fast enough._

After Alfred had left the conversation in favour of a bit of ill advised flirting with one of the new house maids, Jimmy had begun to fill Thomas in on some of the more questionable aspects of the visitors. As well as the dodgy clothes, the pair where apparently painfully unfamiliar with the etiquette of the aristocracy. "They kept trying to _thank _us", continued Jimmy in hushed tones, "every time we offered them food or drink. You'd think they'd cotton on after a while, especially the English one, but he were even worse than the American. Whenever Carson went to fill up his glass he'd smile like a loon and say 'thank you very much, that's very kind'."

Thomas failed to suppress a loud snort of laughter at Jimmy's impression of the Doctor's Estuary accent, earning him a stony look from Carson. Thomas smiled serenely at the Butler, who knitted his eyebrows and pursed his lips in a non-verbal reprimand to his deputy. Thomas and Jimmy quickly made a show of turning away from each other and eating their puddings in stoic silence until Carson shifted his attention back to Mrs Hughes. When the Butler's back was turned, Jimmy and Thomas shared a smirk before the footman continued speaking.

"He were a strange one and no mistake, that Doctor. I couldn't understand half the things he were babbling on about. Kept asking these odd questions. And that Captain Harker weren't much better - he were a right smarmy git if you ask me, although everyone else treated him like he were some sort of Prince bloody Charming." It was Jimmy's turn to snort now, but more in derision than mirth, while Thomas hid a fond smile. _'Course you didn't like him; sounds like he took all the female attention away from you_, he thought affectionately.

"He were sat next to her Ladyship and I swear he was flirtin' with her nineteen to the dozen, right next to his Lordship as well. And he kept-". Jimmy suddenly stopped talking, and when Thomas glanced up from the slice of tart that he had been cutting, he saw that the footman was staring at him warily.

"He kept what?" Thomas asked with genuine concern, brow furrowed. Despite years of honing the art of self interest and caring very little about anyone but himself, Thomas now found it impossible to suppress the little bubble of worry that always formed in his chest whenever Jimmy displayed even the smallest sign of upset. _That's what love does to you_, his sentimental side gushed. _Oh please, _snarked the darker voice, _it's not really 'love' if he doesn't feel the same way. It's just an unhealthy obsession on your part. And he never will, you know. He'll never love you back. _

"Nothing", muttered Jimmy, still looking a bit put out. But clearly something was wrong, because instead of continuing their conversation Jimmy stopped talking altogether, choosing to stare intently at his plate as if the few remaining crumbs of treacle tart there were some uniquely fascinating example of modern art. Thomas felt a little ache in his heart at Jimmy's clear attempt to end their chat, but didn't push him. He chose instead to mimic the blonde and turned his own attention to the last morsels of his desert.

Ever since the fair, Thomas and Jimmy (much to the surprise of the other staff, and even to Thomas) had become firm friends. After a few initially awkward newspaper reading sessions while Thomas was still convalescing, they had discovered that they had far more in common than Thomas had ever suspected. Soon, the tension between them had quickly evaporated, and was replaced by a genuine sense of camaraderie. Although this turn of events had delighted Thomas, it had also forced him to recognise that the footman didn't quite live up to the ideal that he had created in his mind.

When Jimmy had first arrived at Downton, Thomas had regarded him as a faultless example of manhood – a perfect Adonis. He had also deluded himself into thinking that he and Jimmy were alike, when the only real contact he had had with the footman were small, snatched exchanges while at work. What he used to see when he looked at the blonde wasn't the real Jimmy at all, but a false Jimmy built on a foundation of Miss O'Brien's lies and wishful thinking. Even after the foolish midnight kiss Thomas had still put Jimmy on a pedestal, explaining away the casual cruelty and snide comments that the first footman had directed at him for over a year as a result of O'Brien's manipulations and his own folly in coming on too strong. But after they had made their peace and Thomas had actually started to get to know Jimmy, he had begun to realise that the footman was more flawed than Thomas had thought possible for anyone to be, besides himself. For one, Jimmy was lazy. Alfred, for all his gangly awkwardness and delusions of cookery, was quite clearly the better candidate for first footman in terms of hard work and dedication to his duties. Jimmy was also bad with money, malicious to others just for the sake of being unkind, was incredibly vain, and had the attention span of a small gnat. Yet rather than diminish Thomas' affection for the footman, these newly discovered flaws in Jimmy's character only deepened Thomas' infatuation. In Thomas' eyes these negative attributes made Jimmy seem more human, more _real_, and therefore more desirable.

Additionally, Thomas was self conscious enough to perceive that all of Jimmy's flaws were also his own. When he had told Jimmy, on that unfortunate night, that they were 'quite a pair' it had been both a result of his delusion and an admittedly bad attempt at flirtation, but now he really believed it to be true. And even if they were never destined to be anything more than friends, Thomas felt blessed to have him, and he was over the moon to discover that the real Jimmy really was someone who he actually got along well with. _Even if not in quite the way you had hoped._

And yet, despite their closeness, these odd little moments still existed. They would be happily chattering away together, heads bowed close, excluding any other occupants of the room from their private gossip, when Jimmy would just stop talking, as if he had said, or been about to say, something he shouldn't have. The first time this had happened, about three months into their new friendship, a worried Thomas had asked him what the matter was a half dozen or so times before a clearly flustered Jimmy had snapped at him to shut up and mind his own business.

Thomas had felt thoroughly embarrassed, and although Jimmy had apologised profusely a short while later, it hadn't stopped the same thing from happening again. The problem was that Thomas couldn't figure out for the life of him what the problem _was_. He had re-run all of their conversations up to the point where Jimmy had frozen over and over in his mind, but no answer was forthcoming. If there was some sort of issue with the subject matter or the way they were talked, then Thomas just couldn't see it. He began to wonder if it was simply _him_ that was the issue. Maybe he performed some unconscious look or gesture that Jimmy saw as a sign of Thomas' continued attraction to him, which consequently made the blonde shrink back. Thomas had tried desperately to keep his conscious mind free of sexual thoughts concerning the young footman, (apart from the occasional whipping cream based fantasy), in an effort to ease both Jimmy's discomfort and his own heartache. But clearly something was still amiss.

_I just bloody wish I knew how he felt_. Thomas cast a quick glance at a still shifty looking Jimmy, who smiled weakly at him. Thomas returned the smile with more warmth. _Maybe a stroll around the village will cheer him up. At least it'll be better than being stuck here, polishing silver till the sun goes down._

By now, lunch was well and truly over, and a more stable looking Ivy had returned to clear the table with Daisy and Mrs Patmore. Mr Carson, placated by the treacle tart and gentle conversation, no longer had storm clouds brewing in his eyebrows. Indeed, he looked almost jovial as he shared a joke with Mrs Hughes. Thomas decided it was time to put his plan into action.

"Oh, Mr Carson?", he said, as if the thought had just popped into his head. "Could I ask a favour?"

The Butler looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. "That depends on what it is, Mr Barrow."

Thomas quickly plastered on his most genial expression and smiled, (in what he hoped), was a winning manner. "Well, Mr Carson, as we agreed before lunch, this afternoon I'll be walking into the village to buy the cleaning supplies we require."

"Yes...", Carson replied, eyes narrowed as if trying to suss out what his deputy was after. Thomas kept smiling.

"Well, I really am very keen on walking, rather than taking the motorcar, given what a lovely day it is. Only I won't be able to carry all of the bags myself, so I was wondering if you can spare someone to help me. A footman, perhaps."

Thomas was saved the task of trying to think of a way to subtly communicate that Jimmy was the footman he had in mind by Jimmy himself, who piped up, "I'd be happy to assist Mr Barrow, Mr Carson."

Thomas felt a little swell of happiness in heart where the ache had been only moments before. _He's forgiven me then, for whatever the bloody hell it was that I did wrong._

_Well, either that or he just doesn't want to miss the chance to get time off work, _said the snide voice. _There's a good chance he still despises you as much as he ever did, only he's wised up now and realised that it'll open more doors for him in the long run if he pretends to be your mate._

Thomas did his best to ignore the voice. He didn't want anything getting in the way of his spending a whole glorious afternoon in the sun with the first footman. Even if he wasn't entirely sure that Jimmy wanted to spend it with him. As it turned out, it wasn't his own self doubt that would be the only thing getting in the way of his planned sojourn.

Mr Carson stared assessingly at Thomas and Jimmy for a few seconds, eyebrows once again worryingly furrowed, before firmly shaking his head. He looked sternly at Jimmy. "No. I think James' would benefit from staying in the house for the remainder of the day. I believe I need to talk to him about his silver polishing technique."

One of the hallboys sniggered a little too loudly at this statement, and when Carson directed his gaze to glare at the offending adolescent, Thomas saw a scowl cross Jimmy's features. Thomas fought the urge to copy the blonde, settling instead on making his smile just a little too fixed to be considered strictly amicable. _Damn._

Carson, oblivious to their annoyance, waved a hand in the direction of the second footman. "You can take Alfred, instead."

The red head started at the mention of his name, and a wide grin spread across his face. "Really, Mr Carson? I can have the afternoon off?"

"You are not having it _off_, Alfred, you are helping Mr Barrow.", replied Carson. But despite the reprimand he addressed Alfred in a far more kindly tone than the one he had used with Jimmy.

_Bloody Carson, _thought Thomas,_ he would choose his favourite._ He was about to appeal to Mrs Hughes to support him in favour of Jimmy, but was disappointed when he looked at the Scotswoman to find that she was nodding in agreement with Carson.

"Yes, you should go Alfred, you've worked very hard recently, and it'll give you an opportunity to pop into that new spice shop in the village."

Mrs Patmore, who had been busy piling up bowls at the far end of the table, suddenly perked up at the mention of cooking ingredients. "Oooo yes Alfred, you should go and have a look in there, I heard they've got spices from all over the world. It's put Mr Tufton quite out of business." She looked positively gleeful at this news.

"New spice shop?", Daisy said slowly, looking confused. "Where's that?"

"Where Mr Brown the baker used to be", supplied one of the house maids.

"Mr Brown?" Daisy scrunched her face up, as if trying to remember who Mr Brown was, before her eyes went wide. "Wasn't he the one who –"

"Right, well, back to work then everybody", Mr Carson quickly interjected. "Thank you very much for the meal, Mrs Patmore, especially that delicious treacle tart."

Thomas did not miss the warning look that Carson exchanged with Mrs Hughes. Daisy, however, clearly had, because she instantly opened her mouth again. "But what about-" was all that she managed to get out before Mrs Patmore loudly told her and Ivy to hurry up and shooed them out of the room.

As Thomas stood up from the table, he hid another smirk. Three weeks previously, Mr Brown, one of Downton's local bakers, had mysteriously disappeared from the village overnight. His wife had been found sitting on the steps of his shop the following morning, sobbing and distraught. Apparently, he had taken a suitcase full of clothes, nabbed a wad of cash from his business and left a note, the gist of which (according to the local gossips) was that he 'could no longer go on living a lie." The situation had then taken a turn for the scandalous when it transpired that the young man who Mr Brown had been employing as his apprentice had also vanished, leaving a similar note for his parents. The news had spread around Downton like wildfire, and Carson had been quick to assert that any talk on such an 'indecent subject' was strictly out of bounds in the servant's quarters.

Those who knew what the Butler had meant by an 'indecent subject' had kept their mouths shut, but some of the more innocently minded members of staff (including Daisy, Ivy and a few of the younger housemaids and hallboys), who didn't understand _why_ the topic was so 'scandalous', would often bring it up, not realising that they were saying anything wrong. On these occasions, Carson would either quickly change the subject or decide that there were jobs to be done.

This amused Thomas no end. He enjoyed watching the Butler squirm in discomfort every time the topic was raised. _Can't escape the subject for ever. Serves you right, you old goat._ What amused him less was the thought that Mr Brown, a portly man with four wooden teeth and all the sex appeal of a dung beetle, had managed to bag himself a handsome young bloke, while Thomas only had his right hand and a collection of pornographic postcards featuring men dressed as wood elves which he had once stolen from Phillip. _There's still hope_, he told himself firmly, but he couldn't quite block out his father's voice, which laughed humourlessly at the back of his mind and said "_Hardly."_

As the servant's busied themselves with rising from the table and preparing for their afternoon tasks, Thomas looked over at Jimmy. The footman didn't look troubled anymore; in fact, he wasn't displaying any type of emotion at all. As he rose from his seat and straightened out his livery, his normally expressive face was curiously blank, eyes focused unseeingly on some point in the middle distance.

As the rest of the staff began to filter out of the room, Alfred approached Thomas. "When did you want to be off, Mr Barrow?", he asked brightly, clearly pleased at the chance to spend the rest of the day away from the house. Thomas reached into his tailcoat pocket and pulled out his fob watch. It was just gone one.

"In about twenty minutes. Give us time to change. Meet me out back and we'll walk from there."

Alfred nodded, and exited the room. Thomas turned his head round to where Jimmy had been only moments before, but the blonde had gone. Thomas let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, and followed in Alfred's footsteps. As he made his way up the staircase his thoughts lingered on the first footman, and his recent odd behaviour. _Clearly there's summat wrong with him, but God knows what the hell it is._

Thomas shed his livery at speed and re-dressed in his grey pinstriped suit and matching hat, hoping to get in a quick smoke outside before he was joined by Alfred. He was back downstairs and in the courtyard in just under ten minutes, lit up and leaning against the wall in the little alcove that he and O'Brien had used to favour for their midday gossip. _Another person who betrayed you. Another person who left._

He was taking a deep drag on his cigarette, eyes closed in a moment of nicotine induced bliss, when he heard the shuffle of footsteps nearby, followed by a nervous cough. Thomas opened his eyes. Jimmy was standing just a few feet away, a nervous smile on his face.

"Sorry to interrupt, Mr Barrow, but I was wondering if I could have a word before you go?"

His voice sounded a little strained, and his usually rosy cheeks were flushed to a darker shade of crimson. Thomas felt his heart jump a little, but he smiled gently, inclining his head towards the footman as he fought to suppress a blush of his own. _Don't go fawning over him, you'll only make him uncomfortable._

"Of course. Although I wouldn't be too long out here if I were you; don't want Carson thinking you're trying to get out of his polishing master class."

Jimmy pulled a face and joined Thomas in the alcove, mimicking his superior by leaning against the opposite wall. "Bloody Carson. He still doesn't like me, you know, not even now I'm first footman."

"Some people never change", said Thomas, with a calmness he did not feel. Even after all this time, Thomas couldn't stop his heart from racing when he was alone (and in such close quarters) with the blonde.

A little frown appeared on Jimmy's face. "No", he said, seemingly more to himself than Thomas. "I suppose they don't."

_I wish you'd tell me what's bothering you_. But Thomas couldn't just ask the footman outright what was wrong, however much he wanted to. _I don't want to scare him off. Not again._

Instead he took another drag of his cigarette and said, "Sorry about the trip to the village, by the way. Thought I'd be able to convince Carson to let you go."

"Oh", Jimmy replied, shrugging his shoulders. "That's alright. Another time, maybe." He gave Thomas a small but sincere smile, and the brunette felt his stomach do a back flip. He cleared his throat a little louder than strictly necessary and asked, "So, what was you wanted to talk about?"

"Right. That." Jimmy looked nervously up at Thomas, his jaw twitching a little as the two men locked eyes. "It's just that – well I – I need to tell you that I – that I, well, you see it's just that – oh fuck it, can I have a cigarette?"

Thomas blinked in surprise, unsure what to be more shocked about; Jimmy's messy stutter (so different from his usual confident manner), his use of the f-word, or his request for a smoke.

"Err, yes", said Thomas, trying to regain his composure. "Here." He passed Jimmy a cigarette and a lighter, and the blonde lit up, passing the lighter back as he took a deep inhale, blowing the smoke slowly out through his lips. Thomas felt his mouth go dry.

"Didn't know you smoked", he managed to say. Clearly it wasn't Jimmy's first time. He thought it odd that this was something he hadn't known about Jimmy.

Jimmy took another long pull on the cigarette. "Well, maybe there's a lot of things you don't know about me, Mr Barrow."

His voice was decidedly husky, although Thomas reasoned with himself that this was probably down to the smoke. If he didn't know better, he would have described Jimmy's tone as flirtatious.

The footman took a final drag before tossing the cigarette to one side, confidence apparently restored. He took a step forward.

By now, Thomas was finding it very hard to breathe.

"Look, I'm sorry about earlier, I weren't tryin' be rude or owt, and it weren't that I didn't want to talk to you. You see, the thing is, Thomas, that I –"

"Oh, hello! Not interrupting anything, am I?"

The two men snapped their heads around at the unfamiliar voice, and Jimmy (much to Thomas' disappointment) took a quick step back.

The person who had interrupted them was a skinny man who looked to be (in Thomas' estimation) in his mid to late thirties. He wore a blue suit, a pair of highly unusual thick rimmed black glasses, and the strangest shoes that Thomas had ever seen. As if to make his appearance even more alarming, his hair was spiked up and ruffled. From his accent, and Jimmy's earlier description of the guests upstairs, Thomas guessed that his was Doctor John Smith. His suspicions were confirmed when the man's eyes focused on Jimmy and his face broke into a wide grin.

"Ah! James, wasn't it? The footman? Lovely service at lunch today, thanks very much for that again."

Jimmy, who had suddenly gone very pale, gave a quick nod before continuing to stare mutely at the intruder. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Thomas decided to break it. "Is there something we can help you with, Doctor Smith?", he asked in the polite, detached tone of a good servant. He kept his face neutral, but allowed a slight coolness to creep into his voice. Whoever this man was, he was unwelcome both upstairs and down as far as Thomas was concerned, on account of both his bizarre costume and his disruption of whatever it was that Jimmy had been about to say. _It had been something important, that's for certain._

The man didn't seem to be even the slightly bit fazed that Thomas knew who he was. He flicked his eyes back and forth between Thomas and Jimmy, his beam increasing in wattage.

"Blimey, news spreads fast around here, doesn't it?", he said, ignoring Thomas' question. "Only arrived a few hours ago, and everyone already knows my name! Don't really need to introduce myself then, but I will anyway. Doctor John Smith, as you rightly guessed! Please to meet you." He held out his hand to Thomas. Thomas didn't shake it. The Doctor dropped his arm. "Right. No introductions then, although I'm sure you already know everything about me that there is to know. Although I suppose that's quite common, small village like this, and with you working in the house. Must hear a lot of things, Mr...?"

"Barrow", supplied Thomas, eyeing the stranger warily. Thomas had a feeling that his stumbling into the courtyard hadn't been an accident. "Under-Butler to his Lordship. Although I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, sir." Thomas dialled down the temperature of his tone, taking it from cool to icy. The man's grin faltered. He took a step closer.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I didn't mean to imply anything sinister. Only that you must hear a little bit of gossip in your position. A rumour here, a whisper there. Say, for example, a new family moved into the village, or a new shop opened. You might have heard some things –".

"We don't know anything", Jimmy interrupted sharply, his voice unnecessarily loud and a little shaky.

Both Thomas and Doctor Smith turned in surprise to face Jimmy, and Thomas felt the familiar bubble of worry expand in his chest. Jimmy's jaw was twitching again, and his fists, although held by his sides, were tightly clenched. His complexion, so ruddy only minutes before, was now a greenish-white.

"We don't know _anything_", Jimmy repeated, a little quieter this time, and the doctor just nodded, a slight frown creasing his brow.

"No, clearly not", he said gently.

Thomas felt his worry for Jimmy turn to anger at the man who had had such a detrimental effect on the blonde. He fixed the doctor with a thin smile, and a look in his eyes dangerous enough to cow a hundred O'Brien's. "Was there anything else you wanted, sir?"

But yet again the stranger seemed unfazed, and simply shook his head. "No. That was all." His face broke into a wide smile. "Well, lovely to meet you both. Perhaps we'll bump into each again sometime."

"Staying around for a while, are you?", questioned Thomas. He purposely left off the 'sir' this time.

"Oh, not that long. We only really came here to – to – err..."

"To pay your respects to the memory of Mr Crawley?"

"Yes, that!" said the Doctor cheerfully, tapping his nose with his finger then pointing at Thomas, as if they were playing charades and the Under-Butler had just won the game. But then his face crumpled. "Yes, that." he repeated in a more pensive tone. "Always such a terrible business, when the young die." For a moment he stared at a spot just above Thomas' left ear with a troubled expression. Then the wide grin resettled on his face.

"Right, well, bye then!", he said happily (although now, Thomas noted, his cheer seemed rather forced), before he turned around and walked briskly out of the courtyard.

Thomas stood in dumb silence for a moment, his mind reeling with half thoughts and the beginnings of questions. Then he turned back to Jimmy.

"Wonder what that was about?" he said, trying to keep his tone light, but Jimmy didn't appear to hear him. The footman was staring unseeingly into thin air, much like the strange Doctor Smith. The colour had begun to come back into his cheeks, but there was an oddly unreadable expression on his face that made Thomas feel uneasy. He knew, (or thought he knew), all of Jimmy's expressions, all of the little quirks of his always animated face, but this was a look that he had never seen before.

"_Jimmy_", he repeated, a little louder, and the footman started. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, fine, fine. I'm fine.", said Jimmy. He blinked a few times, as if regaining consciousness, then looked up at Thomas. "Sorry, Mr Barrow. What did you say?"

Thomas knew the sensible thing to do would be to steer the conversation away from the intruder, but his curiously had been piqued now. That, and the ghost of the old Thomas had been stirred within him. _There's defiantly something dodgy about that man, and if I find out what it is it could be useful. If he's going to be staying here for a while then he won't want any incriminating rumours reaching the family. That might be worth summat..._

"I said, 'I wonder what that was about.' He's a funny one, that Doctor Smith, just like you said. Very shifty. You said he were asking a lot of questions during lunch. What was it that he were asking about, exactly?"

"Oh, well, just, um, _things_, generally, you know?" Jimmy spoke fast, and Thomas noted that he was looking rather ill again. _He's more changeable than her Ladyship's wardrobe today._

It was clear that something about this doctor was making Jimmy uneasy, and Thomas scolded himself for pushing the issue. But before he could change the subject, Jimmy cleared this throat and loudly said, "Right, well, I'd better be on me way. Alfred'll be here soon, and I don't want to keep Carson waiting." He turned abruptly and started walking away, but instead of heading back to the servant's hall he went in the other direction, across the courtyard and out through the gates leading to the village.

_Where on earth's he going?_, thought Thomas, momentarily rooted to the spot in confusion. It was only after a few seconds that he remembered the reason Jimmy had come outside at all.

_Sorry to interrupt, Mr Barrow, but I was wondering if I could have a word before you go?_

"Jimmy, wait!", cried Thomas, but the footman had already disappeared from view. Thomas jogged quickly to the gate and poked his head round the side, eyes scanning the path beyond, but Jimmy was nowhere to be seen. For a brief moment he considered running all the way down to the village to try and catch the elusive footman, but then an image popped into his head. Two flustered looking servants, one still in full livery, sprinting along a country path, one chasing after the other like something out of a farce. Thomas shook his head and dismissed the idea. There had been quite enough strangeness already without adding _that _to the mix.

But as Thomas turned to head back inside the courtyard, he saw something in the corner of his eye which made him stop and swivel back around to stare down the path. There was nothing there. And yet, for a second, he could have sworn that he'd seen the tails of a coat whip past. A blue coat. A blue coat that he had seen somewhere before. A blue coat that conjured up memories of a silver chair. A silver chair in a silver room. A silver room that had belonged to –

"Ready to go, Mr Barrow?" Thomas was snapped out of his reverie by Alfred, who was standing in front of him, smiling pleasantly. Thomas blinked rapidly a few times, feeling a little dazed as his eyes focused on the footman.

"Right, yes. Ready, of course."

"Great!", said Alfred, who had clearly missed any sign of discomposure in Thomas' manner. "I've got the bags", he said, flourishing a handful of cloth sacks.

"Right, well, come on then."

Once again, Thomas made his way out of the courtyard, and once again, the path beyond was deserted. In the back of this mind, the cruel voice made itself heard. _Maybe there were nothing here in the first place. Maybe it's all just you, the great Thomas Barrow, going senile in your old age. _

Alfred walked alongside him, happily chattering away. "-and you don't mind if we take a look in that new spice shop, do you Mr Barrow? Only I've heard word that they've got some very unusual herbs in there...".

But Thomas wasn't listening; the numerous questions that the events of the last twenty minutes had thrown up were teeming inside his mind, reducing any external noise to static.

_What the __**fuck **__is going on?_


End file.
